When we last visted Trumplestiltskin, he was celebrating the creation of the greatest defensive wall a gate-guarded community had ever seen. It was the centerpiece of the campaign that won him presidency of his homeowners association, and a tremendous ego boost. Thanks to the series of shell companies that he used to funnel all the construction to his own contractors, it had also enriched him bigly. It also received a lot of glowing attention from the press.
In short, life was grand.
So, it was with surprising consternation that last night he experienced a rather disturbing and fantastical nightmare. In it, he was being carted away in some kind of horror-based landscape. He was all alone, in a crude cage being pulled by a couple of skeletal horses, and neither of his trusted associates – Jeffy and Mouthy Spice – were there to help. An ominous glow off on the horizon only added to the existential dread emanating from his immediate surroundings.
Yet, as his carriage approached the gate of what could appeared to be a foreboding prison that belonged in Jack Skellington’s Holloweentown, the noise and tremors from an explosion woke Trumplestiltskin from his upsetting. At first, he was overcome with relief as he wiped the sweat from his brow and his heart rate returned to normal. But, then, the thought occurred to him: was the explosion part of the dream, or did it really occur. After considering this for a few moments, the phone on his nightstand started to ring…